Last Kiss
by jellalyrancher
Summary: In which he's lost his muse and she's reminiscing alone.


That was the last of it. The last box.

Elizabeta ran her fingers over the duct tape as Gilbert bent beside her, prizing her wrists from it. "Hey, come on. I'm supposed to be helping you move out, not mope."

"You're right," Elizabeta murmured hoarsely, as though she hadn't used her voice in a while. She brushed back soft chestnut tresses and made to pick up the box as Gil lay a hand on her shoulder.

"Take a break. I've got it." He huffed and lifted the box, filled with Liz's dresses, and started to carry it to the car when he paused.

"You didn't label this one," a quiet voice from the doorway stated, squinting through glasses at the box. Liz turned her eyes to the floor and didn't look up at him.

"Sure I did, Roddy, it says clothes right on the side," she told him, her voice so falsely sugar sweet that Gilbert tried not to roll his eyes.

"So did the last two. Here," Roderich said, coming into the room. Elizabeta couldn't bear to look at him - she couldn't stand to look at him and know that he wasn't hers to treasure. She could picture his expression, though; mild annoyance and concern, though he had no right to be anymore. _He'd_ cast _her_ aside, not the other way around. Green eyes stayed trained on spotless black boots as slim pianist fingers reached towards her from her kneeling position on the floor.

"Give me the marker, Erzse," Roderich told her, and she saw the hand clench into a fist at the old habit.

"Elizabeta, if you don't mind, Roddy. Or at least Liz. I don't need you to take care of me, I can do it myself." She pushed herself to her feet, boots muddying the carpet-_good_. She met his gaze with a tilt of her chin, and refused - _refused _\- to allow him to see any pain in her eyes. Something clouded the jewel-like purple tones of Roddy's, but Liz swept her hair back and marched toward the box, scribbling Dresses across the top.

"I'll take it out, Gilbert. You can help Roddy clean up what's left."

She whisked the box from his arms and marched out the door, biting her lip to keep it from quivering.

* * *

Roderich slumped against the wall, his hands rubbing at his temples. That woman was going to give him a migraine.

There were dents in the carpet where her armchair had sat, and the dresser that had been a gift from Berwald and Tino - the door to the closet was flung open, and something about it screamed empty, empty.

She'd left muddy footprints on the carpet, probably just to annoy him-that was certainly something Elizabeta would do. On the doorway, he could see where she'd scrubbed with an eraser at the marks of little Feliciano's height as he grew when he'd lived with them, trying to erase the memories.

Her ring was on the bed. The ring that Roderich had been so proud to give her, a gold band with emeralds that matched her eyes and a single, small diamond - his Erzse was never extravagant. Not his Erzse anymore.

Gilbert narrowed his eyes. "Are you sure this is what you want?"

"It's what she wants, Gilbert. I can't make her happy anymore."

"I think you're making a big mis-"

"Your concerns are dually noted!" Roderich snapped, one hand leaving his face and slamming against the wall. "It's better this way. Just get her out of here. She needs to go."

"Alright," Gil said slowly, clapping a hand to Roderich's shoulder. "If you need me, call."

"I'm fine," Roderich replied, closing his eyes. He wanted to remember her, the lines of her heart-shaped face, softening when he flushed and sat at the piano to play a song for her; the way one corner of her lips curled when she wanted him to kiss her, and how her hair felt sliding over his arms and shoulders when he held her as they slept.

_Erzse_, he thought to himself, _I still remember the look on your face; lit through the darkness at 1:58. The words that you whispered for just us to know...you told me you loved me, so why did you go away?_

"You know why, Roderich," he muttered to himself. "You sent her away."

* * *

One bathroom, one bedroom, a handkerchief kitchen and living room - Elizabeta could've walked the whole apartment blindfolded in under a minute. Her boxes stayed stacked around, like some sad little rendition of a child's fort.

Gil stayed long enough to help her unpack some dishes and set out some furniture before vanishing, wishing good luck and pressing a brotherly kiss to her cheek.

She had three voicemails, one from her cousin, promising to visit tomorrow and make enough pasta to last her the week - Liz cracked a smile at how very _Feli_ it was. The second was Katyusha, offering a girl's night out and some bottles of alcohol she'd "borrowed" from her brother on her last visit, and a reminder that Elizabeta was strong and loved.

The third was from Roderich.

"_I'm sorry to call you so late, Elizabeta, but you left your wedding dress behind and I wasn't sure if you'd want it - I also found what looks like one of your journals, but I haven't gone through it. If you want them, I'll be happy to give them both to Gilbert. Um, yes, well, let me know. Gentle dreams."_

Her wedding dress - she purposefully hadn't packed it, not wanting to look at the confection of white and silk and be reminded that she was a _failure_ and _he didn't love her anymore_. She'd be reminded of that every birthday, anyway. Elizabeta texted a reply to Roderich, plugged her phone in to charge, and dug out some pajamas and a comforter before settling in for a lonely night on the couch.

The next morning, Gilbert knocked on her door with journal in hand, and dutifully handed it to her. "You know, I'm not a Labrador. You can't keep calling on me and asking me to bring you things like a lapdog." He looked reproachful.

"I know," Elizabeta sighed, setting the journal on the tiny counter, "I'm sorry."

"You're both my friends and I can't keep watching you tear each other apart!"

"What do you want me to _say_, Gil? He doesn't want me!" Liz found herself shouting, hands shaking.

"He doesn't know what he wants! He _needs_ you, Liz, so stop this and go home!" Gilbert yelled back, keeping his distance. He raked his nails through his pale white-blond hair. "God, the two of you - just go home to him!"

"That's not my home anymore!" Elizabeta cried, and cupped a hand to her mouth. She turned her back to Gilbert, who threw his hands in the air and stormed out, slamming the door. And for the first time, Elizabeta let herself cry. She sobbed into her palm, tears trickling over the back of her hand and dropping onto the tile floor. Her eyes fell on the journal, an old forgotten momento that she'd written in everyday out of habit, filled with pictures, and found herself reaching for it.

"No," she muttered to herself, "stupid. I should just burn it."

_Then why,_ whispered a nasty little voice in her head, _did you ask for it_?

Elizabeta swallowed a gulp of air, closed her eyes and curled her fingers. _Just this once_, she'd indulge herself. She'd indulge some pain. She picked up her phone and called her cousin, smiling slightly at his cheerful voice and snuffling back tears.

"_Ciao_, Lizzy! How are you feeling? I'm excited to come over and _mangiare_ with my favorite cousin!"

"_Szia_, Feli, I'm not feeling very well today - would you mind pushing dinner off until next week, _nagyon kérem_?"

"Oh...of course, Lizzy! Do you need me to come and take care of you? _Fratello_ and I would be over _in un batter d'occhio_," Feliciano told her warmly, and Elizabeta could picture the unflappable happiness in his ocher eyes as he tried to cheer his broken-hearted cousin.

"No, no, I'll be okay. I'll see you next week, _unokahúgom,_" she murmured, and hung up. Her bare feet led her to one of her many boxes, and she could feel her eyes watering-she'd taken her favorite shirt from the house, to give her comfort, even though it didn't belong to her. She'd promised herself she wouldn't wear it.

Elizabeta dug out Roddy's plain white button-up shirt, wrinkled from being tossed into a box, and swapped her pajama top for the dress shirt. It was longer than her shorts, and she felt a little bit silly, standing in the middle of her minuscule living room in a too-big shirt with her messy ponytail and fresh tears making their way down her face. The shirt still smelled like Roderich, like Earl Grey tea and fresh ink. Liz wondered idly if saltwater stained as she reached for the journal.

The first page was a picture of her embracing Roderich at her gate at an airport, her arms thrown around his neck and face pressed into his shoulder. He'd picked her up off the floor just enough that her feet were swinging.

"**You're wet!" He'd said in surprise, pushing her sopping hair off of her face.**

**"Of course, it's pouring out!" Liz laughed, entwining their hands. Gilbert gave Liz a one-armed hug, and Basch offered a non-chalant fist bump.**

**"So why run right through it, silly girl?"**

**"I missed you," Elizabeta had told him, and wrapped him in another hug.**

Scrawled underneath, in her own handwriting:

_I do recall now, the smell of the rain; fresh off the pavement, I ran off the plane. That July 9th, the beat of your heart jumps through your shirt, I can still feel your arms..._

She almost laughed aloud. How unfair life could be. _Now I'll go sit on the floor wearing your clothes; all that I know is I don't know how to be something you'd miss. Never thought we'd have our last kiss...never imagined we'd end like this._

"Ah, Roderich Edelstein..." Elizabeta sighed, "must it always be this way? _Your name, forever the name on my lips?_"

* * *

_**Keep the gown. I do not want it - save it for your next wife. I do wish to retrieve my journal. Please give it to Gil. -Elizabeta**_

Roderich read the message three times, just to let it sink in just how cold she was. Fine, he'd keep the gown. But the "save it for your next wife" part - that was just cruel. Even though she'd sent it last night, he hadn't allowed it to affect him until now.

Gilbert had just left with the journal, after slamming the door and trying to force Roderich in the car.

"I'm sick of this bullshit! Make Basch handle it, I'm done!" Gilbert had snarled, revving the car backwards and shooting away.

"I didn't need your help anyway, du miststück!" Roderich bellowed into the empty room, kicking the side of the bed. He ignored the sharp pain in his foot, the crunch his toes made on the impact and frowned down at the dress on the bed.

June 8th, a day he'd never forget - he'd never have forgotten it even if he hadn't married the woman of his dreams that day, simply because it was her birthday. He remembered her insistence that "roses were too cliché, let's do something unexpected...let's have tulips!" and that instead of a massive tiered wedding cake, it be one tiered and circular, just like her old birthday cakes. It had been such a grand ceremony - neither of them had wanted to make such a large deal of it, of course, but Roderich's parents had been insistent.

Basch had been his best man, grumbling about his "monkey suit" and the possibility of being strangled by his tie, only softening when his younger sister, Lily, paraded bashfully down the aisle with petals in a basket and twirling a light pink skirt. Feliciano led the first bridesmaid, Natalya, in her pretty sage green gown, and waved cheerily at her once they took their positions. Ludwig had glided along with a beaming Laura, who nudged Natalya excitedly once she stood beside her. Peter and Hanatamago had trotted down the aisle side by side, a silky green ribbon tied around Hana's neck, carrying the rings.

Tino had immediately burst into tears, and Berwald tried to comfort him with gentle pats.

Finally came Katyusha, Maid of Honor, leading the way for the woman Roderich wanted to see more than anyone else in the world - wearing the very gown he now crumpled in between his fingers, bruising his skin on pearl buttons and wrinkling satin.

If he closed his eyes, he could picture her still, frozen in that moment - smiling at him, Gilbert leading her by the elbow down the aisle, her long caramel hair falling to her waist and pinned back with soft pink flowers that exactly matched the shade of Lily's dress; she'd opted for short sleeves made of delicate lace, the dress dipping into a sweetheart neckline and hugging her waist, only to flair out around her hips and float to the floor, with small pearls making intricate patterns of flowers along the skirt.

He wanted to rip the dress to shreds, to throw it out the window and let Gilbert run over it with his car. He wanted to put it in a vacuum-sealed container away from contamination and display it proudly, run his fingers over the lace and play the memory of undoing each button in his mind. He was driving himself mad.

"Erzse," Roderich said to himself, his hands playing over the gown like his beloved piano, "how many things I did for you." He'd written her the song that Ludwig had graciously played at their wedding, mastering the piano for their first dance. _I do remember the swing of your step; the life of the party, you're showing off again. And I roll my eyes and then you pull me in - I'm not much for dancing, but for you I did_.

"Why, Roderich? Why give everything for a woman you'd give away?" Basch had demanded of him several weeks ago, burning with confusion. He could see his friend withering away in front of him - Elizabeta was the only thing Roddy had ever wanted, so why now did he choose to send her packing?

Roderich didn't have an answer then, but he paced the room, finally throwing the door open and striding to his piano, gliding his fingertips over the ivory keys, waiting for the answer to come to him now. Music brought him inspiration, brought him answers - it always had. It would not abandon him now.

But Erzse had been his muse for so long - now that she was gone, was his music lost as well? Dangling at his fingertips, just out of reach? Or was his muse simply morphed - instead of being light and beautiful, it was mournful and heartbreaking. The answer jumped to his tongue, in notes and lyrics. He reached for sheet music, writing with one hand and testing a tune with the other, eyes narrowing in his focus.

_Because I love your handshake, meeting my father; I love how you walk with your hands in your pockets. How you kissed me when I was in the middle of saying something-there's not a day I don't miss those rude interruptions_.

Yes, that was it. That's why he'd give anything for her - so trivial, so small...so Elizabeta.

Roderich carefully folded the sheet of music into a crisp half...and then again...and then into triangles...and slowly it became a perfect paper airplane, that he sent to glide across the room.

* * *

Each page brought forth more tears, more memories, more _shame_. How could she have let it fall through when she'd loved him so much?

"Oh, really, Elizabeta. Loved? Don't kid yourself," she whispered as she flicked another page in the journal, knowing the past tense was an empty lie. The picture was Roderich at the piano, his eyes closed, fingers blurred, and lips curved into a half smile that meant he was concentrating.

How she treasured this picture, her darling Roddy. Her fingers touched it gently, fighting the memory.

"**Roddy, you look so peaceful - what are you thinking of, my love?"**

**"You, **_**liebeling**_**," he answered simply, one eye opening. Elizabeta cocked an eyebrow and walked towards him, entranced by the music.**

**"Play it again, **_**szerelmem**_**," she demanded, sitting beside him and resting her head against his. He pressed his lips gently to her temple.**

**"**_**Szeretlek**_**, Erzse," Roderich murmured, his hands plucking an angelic melody from the keys.**

**"**_**Ich liebe dich auch**_**, Roddy," came the whispered reply, the pair swaying gently to what became known as "Erzse's Lullaby".**

And here she was, curled up with an old journal in a shirt that wasn't hers, an apartment that didn't feel like home, and crying over someone who didn't love her anymore.

What a mess her life had become.

Would this become a pattern? Would everyday be a repetition of _I'll go sit on the floor wearing your clothes; all that I know is I don't know how to be something you'd miss. Never thought we'd have our last kiss...never imagined we'd end like this. Your name, forever the name on my lips..._

The book dropped from Liz's hands as she scrambled to her feet, kicking it into the corner with a whimper and changing into jeans, not bothering with the blotchy redness of her face, and grabbed her phone, some cash, and ran outside to hail a cab.

The first one stopped for her, looking confused at the half-insane woman who threw money at him and gave him Gilbert's address.

She sat in the back, arms wrapped around herself, thinking about Roderich-thinking about the mole on his cheek, his grin, his music...

Elizabeta gasped for air. He'd cut himself from her life, fine. But she wasn't ready to let go, not yet. _So I'll watch your life in pictures like I used to watch you sleep; and I'll feel you forget me like I used to feel you breathe. And I'll keep up with our old friends, just to ask them how you are...hope it's nice where you are_.

It was getting harder to breathe in this stuffy cab. She wanted to roll the windows down, but it had started raining. She felt her head swim, struggling to pull in enough air to keep herself thinking of him. Was this a panic attack? Was she hyperventilating? The driver had asked her something...she couldn't hear. It was like she was underwater. Where was Roderich? She wanted Roderich, he could help her. He would hold her.

"Roddy," she gasped as the cab pulled over at a familiar looking house, a blonde man running to the cab shouting something that sounded like gargling.

_And I hope the sun shines, and it's a beautiful day - and something reminds you you wish you had stayed. You can plan for a change in a weather and time, but I never planned on you changing your mind._

The door flew open as Elizabeta's vision started to tunnel, and Gilbert's eyes were wide with terror. "Liz! Liz, look at me!"

Her head rolled, and the rain was chilling. It was going to ruin her shirt - her precious shirt. She blinked twice, breathing in two deep breaths of clean, wet air, before breaking into Gil's arms.

Her frame shook with the force of her sobs, her tears warmer than the raindrops pelting them both. "I'm s-sorry, Gil," she breathed, dribbling onto his shoulder.

He stroked her wet hair. "C'mon, now, Lizzy, up you get. Let's go in where it's warm, okay?"

"O-okay," Elizabeta blubbered, stumbling to her feet. She let Gil lead her up the stairs, into the warmth of the house, repeating over and over...

_I'll go sit on the floor wearing your clothes; all that I know is I don't know how to be something you'd miss._

Sitting at the table, head in his hands, was a head with dark hair, one stubborn curl standing up.

"Apparently I'm so awesome I can't just have one guest," Gilbert joked drily, sitting Elizabeta down at the table and offering a small hand towel. Her eyes, puffy from crying, were focused on the man across the table, who stared back at her, sitting in his favorite dress shirt.

"Look, I'm going upstairs to get dry and get some clean clothes. You two have some demons to work out." Gilbert vanished before Liz's protest was all the way out of her mouth, and her hand fell back to the table.

"Save it for your next wife? Really?" Roderich said suddenly, his voice cold. Elizabeta set her chin.

"Clearly I wasn't good enough for you, but somebody's got to take care of you - you damn well can't do it yourself and it can't be Gil."

"Weren't good enough for _me_? You were all I ever wanted! You were so unhappy, always so sad, I was trying to _save_ you!"

"Do I fucking look saved, Roddy? Honestly, do I look happier now? That's bullshit - you tossed me out."

"I did it because I loved you and I want the best for you!" Roderich spat, slamming his palms flat against the table.

"Clearly that isn't the case anymore! Otherwise you'd know me better, _idióta_!" Elizabeta shot back, quivering in her chair.

It grew quiet, the silence the loudest thing in the room. The pair stared at each other, pain shared in waves. It was Elizabeta who broke the silence.

"_Never thought we'd have a last kiss,"_ she whispered, a tear breaking ranks and trickling down her cheek. Roderich reached to wipe it away, but she swatted his hand out of reach. "We were supposed to be forever...I don't think there will be a time I don't love you, Roddy."

He looked at her from across the table, face crumpling in on itself. "I know, Ersze. My liebeling. _Never imagined we'd end like this; your name, forever the name on my lips."_

He stood then, and walked to her, and tried not to wince when she visibly flinched away from him. He took her hand and pressed his lips gently to he back of it, his eyes closed. Roderich held her hand to his kiss as he spoke, brushing gently over her skin; "_Just like our last kiss_."

Elizabeta moved her hand to cup his cheek, fighting the stabbing pain in each crevice of her heart. "_Forever the name on my lips_."

"_Forever the name on my lips_," Roderich echoed, leaning into her palm. "_Just like our last_-"

But his Erzse had already been bending to kiss him for the first time once more.

* * *

A/N: My first published Hetalia fic! Yay! I ship AusHun like a very intense armada - my love is deep for this pair. Sadly, I do not own them - credit goes to Hidekazu Himaruya for creating such wonderful characters. I only own the Human!AU I plopped them in.

I decided to base this Fic off of the song _Last Kiss_ by Taylor Swift which I also do not own and give credit to her. It is a very, very beautiful song that I found fits the pair of them excellently and if you ever get the urge to look it up, I implore you to act upon it.

Please respect also that I wrote this fanfiction from a very, very personal point of view in my own life and while I welcome criticism and any improvements, I do wish to avoid flaming!

The song lyrics, up until the end, are all in thought "bubbles" or sequences and _italicized_. All memories involving dialogue are **bolded** for reader convenience.

Alas, English is my first (and other than rudimentary Latin, only) language, so I relied on Google Translate for much of my vocabulary in the fanfiction. A trillion apologies if they are incorrect or even offensive, as I did not mean it in any way!

**Translations**:

_Ciao_!: Hello

_mangiare_: eat

_Szia_: Hello

_nagyon kérem: _pretty please

_Fratello: _big (older) brother

_in un batter d'occhio: _in a heartbeat

_unokahúgom: _little cousin

_du miststück_: you bastard

_liebeling/_szerelmem_: _my love

_Szeretlek: _I love you

_Ich liebe dich auch: _I love you, too

_idióta: _idiot


End file.
